


These Boots are Made for Walking

by TheRedMenace



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Becoming Pepper Potts, F/M, For the most part, Pepper Goddamn Potts, Pepper Potts Feels, Pepper-centric, an ode to Pepper's footwear, compliant through Iron Man 2, in which the Author stomps all over canon backstories, yeah this is basically all about Pepper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedMenace/pseuds/TheRedMenace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or; Five Pairs of Pepper Potts' Amazing Footwear.  or; Becoming Pepper Potts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Boots are Made for Walking

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been toying with this idea for a while now [“a while” meaning since at least early 2014]. Mostly because I am gaga for Pepper’s footwear. I think Pepper has turned her wardrobe into both her uniform and her armor, and I wanted to write something to play with the idea of her Becoming Pepper Potts.
> 
> Additional, Marvel-specific notes at the end of the story.

 

Five Pairs of Pepper’s Pumps…

* * *

May 15, 1998

Boston College – Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

This was it.

Four years of backbreaking work, of classroom sexism and graveyard diner shifts, all-nighters and more than one panicked phone call home, and it was all just moments away from paying off.

Ginny tried to sit patiently, but oh dear lord the football stadium was overcrowded.  It was a very warm spring day, and she was sure she was about to sweat through her poly-blend graduation robes.

And even if by some miracle she didn’t sweat herself to dehydration, her borrowed $15 Wal-Mart pumps were sure to squeeze her feet to the point that they cut off all circulation, resulting in emergency amputation.  She should have known better than to accept her roommate’s offer of loaned shoes; she knew from experience that she was at least a half-size larger than Katie [sometimes as much as a size and a half, depending on the brand and the time of year].  But the heel on Ginny’s only good pair of shoes had snapped just as they were walking out the door.  There wouldn’t have been time to get new shoes and still get to commencement on time.  And anyways, Ginny was in penny-pincher mode right now, scrimping every cent and surviving on peanut butter and ramen so she could afford to move out to her sister in California.  Spending $20 on shoes she’d only wear once made no sense; she could deal with pinched toes for a day.

Well, now that she was standing with her row and making her way to the field, she wasn’t so sure…

“Virginia Potts.  Double B.S. in Business Administration and Finance, Summa Cum Laude.”

Deep breaths, Potts.  One [pinched, nerveless] foot in front of the other.  Toddle across the field, up onto the platform.  Shake hands with the President and get the diploma.  What matter painful feet when the culmination of four years of work is at stake?

Twenty more feet and she’s out.

Out of stuffy, pretentious Boston with its sexist, classist snobs.

Out of her parents’ house, where the specter of her mother drove her father deeper into the bottle until he lashed out and said she would never live up to Amelia Potts’ memory.

Out of the business department of Carroll College, filled to the brim with trust fund fuckboys wasting time until they came into their inheritance.

She was going out to live with her sister in San Francisco.  She would get a job at some Silicon Valley start-up, and she would build a whole new life for herself.

Ginny’s hand closed around her diploma, and she smiled.  It all began now.

* * *

November 6, 1999

Stark Industries International Headquarters – Los Angeles, California

Virginia clasped her hands together atop her [faux] leather-bound portfolio to camouflage their shaking.  God, she hated job hunting.

What was she thinking, applying to a multi-national Fortune 100 company?  Was she out of her mind?  Even entry-level job hiring here was fiercely competitive; rumor had it that you couldn’t even set foot in the office complex without a three letter degree behind your name.  Virginia was eighteen months out of undergrad; she was vastly unqualified to be here.

But Carlos had insisted she at least submit her resume to AIM’s competitor.  She was too good for small potatoes work, Carlos said.

Carlos was delusional.

But Virginia must have a touch of the crackpot too, because here she was, waiting to interview with Stark Industries, of all the ridiculous things under the sun.  Even though she hadn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell.

[Alright, maybe it was less being a crackpot than it was that she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with Aldrich Killian’s attentions.  Low-key harassment did not a professional atmosphere make.]

God, this was a stupid idea.  She should leave before everyone got embarrassed.

And yet…  Damn, that employee benefits package, though.  Full health, vision and dental, a 401k after 6 months, a salary that would let her get her own place so Georgia could move in with her girlfriend, and [best of all, in Virginia’s opinion] SI would often cover their employees’ student loans in exchange for signing a three-year contract.  Virginia would _love_ to not be $15,000 in debt…

And it wasn’t as if Virginia thought she could change the world, or anything.  But she had studied SI’s business model and employee policies in school, and of all the international juggernauts, SI’s had been the one she agreed with most.  SI was a pioneer on several fronts – military, software, communications technology, medical, agriculture.  To be a part of that, even in a very small way…  It was probably a pipe dream.  But Virginia couldn’t resist the siren call.

The office door opened, and a stocky, middle-aged lady stuck her head out.

“Miss Potts.  Thank you for waiting.  Come on in.”

_Deep breaths, Potts_ , she reminded herself as she stood and entered the office, taking the black woman’s proffered hand.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Ms. Arbogast,” Virginia said politely.

“The pleasure’s mine,” the Director of Hiring said shrewdly.  “Would you mind turning in a circle for me?”

“Excuse me?” Virginia asked, baffled.

“Turn,” Ms. Arbogast repeated, twirling her finger.

Blinking in confusion, Virginia did as requested.

“Excellent,” Ms. Arbogast said briskly.  “Now show me your shoes, please.”

Virginia’s brow furrowed.  “Ms. Arbogast-”

“Call me Bambi,” the Director interrupted.

“Bambi, I don’t see how this is at all relevant,” Virginia protested.

“Virginia – may I call you Virginia?” Bambi asked, plowing ahead without waiting for Virginia’s nod.  “I head up a department of thirty people.  We see hundreds of resumes every single day.  As you might imagine, we are _very_ good at reading between the lines of what people put on a page.”  Bambi held up a copy of Virginia’s resume and cover letter.  “You’ve held at least one job, often two or even three at once, since the age of fifteen.  You graduated fourth in your class last year before moving cross-country and taking a job at a Silicon Valley start-up for which you weren’t fully qualified.  All of this tells me that you are bright, ambitious, competent and resourceful.  And now you’re applying for a job at a multi-national billion-dollar corporation, when you don’t even have a Master’s degree in your field.  That makes you either incredibly driven, or yet another pretty little thing angling to be near Tony Stark, and the answer to which you are is in your footwear.  So, if you please?”

Virginia bit her lip, flushing a bit as she lifted the leg of her slacks to show Bambi her conservative, low-heeled pumps.  They were perfectly good shoes, she’d been wearing them for months at work, but suddenly she wished she’d bought something fancier than Mom shoes from Macy’s.  Christ, Bambi was right; she was in no way qualified to be here…

Bambi leaned back in her office chair, nodding in satisfaction.  “Yes, I think you’ll do.”

Virginia goggled, doing a double-take.  “Really?”

“Our west coast HQ needs an administrative assistant for the finance department,” Bambi said.  “It will be a lot of hard work.  They’ve just restructured, so the whole office is a mess.  They’ll be counting on you to help make things run smoothly.  Interested?”

Dazzled, Virginia couldn’t help but agree.

What followed next was a whirlwind of negotiations [where SI did indeed agree to take over her loan payments, and Virginia almost wept for joy], paper signing, and HR wizardry.  When it was all done three hours later, Bambi escorted Virginia to the door.

“A word of advice,” she said.  “Take part of your first paycheck and splurge on a pair of heels that make you feel invincible.”

“Why?” Virginia asked, trying not to cringe at the thought of an unnecessary expense.

“It’s one hell of a challenge, working at SI,” Bambi replied.  “You’ll need every bit of moxie you can muster to rise up to meet it, and a fabulous pair of heels boots you up that much further.”

* * *

December 18, 2001

Tony Stark’s residence – Malibu, California

Pepper scowled as she got into her 2002 Audi A6 [apology gift], throwing her Nokia 8310 into her Givenchy satchel [apology gift] and tossing her Manolo Blahnik slingback heels [pre-Christmas bonus] onto the seat next to her.  As soon as she was buckled in, she was tearing out of the lot of SI’s L.A. Headquarters, speeding toward her boss’ mansion and muttering disparaging comments about the man, his lifestyle, his robots and his goatee under her breath.

She was going to clean up this mess for him, and then she was going to tender her resignation.

Pepper [and God, wasn’t that a fucking ridiculous nickname she’d allowed herself to get stuck with] thought about resigning often.  Fantasized about it, some days.  There were days when she wasn’t sure how she’d lasted a whole seven months of Tony Stark, or how she could be expected to endure even a single hour more.

Stark Industries was a dream to work for.  Stark himself was more of a nightmare.  He was thoughtless, dismissive, rude, completely disrespectful of other people’s time and personal boundaries, and none of that even touched on his womanizing or his [usually] functional alcoholism.  There were many days when Pepper could happily wring his neck, if given the opportunity.

So why did she stay, if she disliked her boss so severely?  Stubbornness, mostly.  She did not like admitting when she was beaten, and she refused to lose to a spoiled brat.

[In all honesty, when she wasn’t so very pissed off with him, Pepper could admit that she actually kind of liked her boss.  He was brilliant, and she marveled at his thought processes.  He was charming and flashy, but a surprisingly thoughtful CEO (most of the time).  And she was never bored.  On good days, Pepper might even say that she enjoyed her job; she liked keeping her brilliant, ridiculous, dazzling boss at least somewhat on track, thrived on the challenge of being his gatekeeper and the central hub of communication between him and the rest of the company.]

She should have listened more carefully to Obie’s warnings, Pepper lamented as she turned into Tony’s neighborhood.  He had warned her of this exact likelihood only days ago.

_As Tony’s PA, one of Pepper’s duties was to meet at least bi-weekly with Obadiah Stane.  Though no longer SI’s CEO, he still sat on the board and served as the company’s CAO and second-in-command.  As such, Obie relied on Pepper to act as a bridge between Tony and the rest of the company.  At these meetings, Obie and Pepper would discuss matters like Tony’s current projects, upcoming meetings and contracts, and matters Obie needed Tony to actually pay attention to._

_“One more thing, Ms. Potts,” Obie said at the end of their last meeting.  “I just want you to be on guard.  Tony’s difficult all the time, but he tends to be impossible through December.  Keep him on track as much as you can, and try to keep him busy.  Anything that needs relatively immediate executive action, feel free to send my way.”_

And sure enough, Tony had become progressively more difficult to deal with as December rolled on.  He’d become more surly, more terse, somehow even worse at meeting his basic physical needs.  It had been steadily depleting Pepper’s patience for days now.

But being irresponsible with his company, neglecting himself, and abusing Pepper’s good graces was one thing.  It was another thing entirely to neglect his duties to the United States government.

After the horrors of 9/11, the Department of Defense had scrambled to contact all of their military contractors.  Stark Industries had been one of their very first calls.  After three months of intense negotiations, SI had crafted a contract with the DOD to develop next-gen weaponry in exchange for government grant money to fund some of SI’s non-military technological research.  Additionally, Tony’s dear friend Major James Rhodes was to be named as the liaison between the DOD and SI.

The final paperwork was meant to be signed this morning.  And who hadn’t deigned to show up?  Anthony Edward Fucking Stark.  After ninety embarrassing minutes, Pepper had called Obie to come and sign the contract as Tony’s proxy.

And once the paperwork had been signed, Pepper had gotten into her car in order to murder Tony Fucking Stark.

She pulled into Tony’s driveway, cutting the engine and shoving her Manolos on her feet.  Getting out of the car, Pepper slammed the door and stormed through the front door.

“TONY!” she bellowed, stomping through the foyer.  “Tony Stark, where are you?”

“He’s sleeping, Pepper.”

She whirled around, sweeping into the kitchen where Major Rhoades sat at the island.  He was dressed in pajama pants and a grey MIT sweatshirt, and was drinking coffee as he flipped through what looked like one of Tony’s project files.

“Sleeping?” Pepper repeated, flabbergasted.  “How could he be sleeping?  He had a meeting with the DOD two hours ago!”

Rhodey frowned.  “That was today?”

“ _Yes_!” Pepper exclaimed, exasperated.  “I’ve been reminding him for two weeks now, there’s no way he didn’t remember-”

“Who scheduled it?” Rhodey asked.

“I did,” Pepper replied.  “Which is why-”

“Ah,” Rhodey said, like that explained everything.  “That explains it.  You’re still new, I guess no one told you-”

“New,” Pepper scoffed.  “It’s been seven months, it’s like half a decade in dog years-”

“You didn’t know about December, so you’re still new,” Rhodey interrupted.  “I guess Obie didn’t think about it.”

“Obie did tell me,” Pepper objected.

Rhodey’s frown deepened.  “And you scheduled the meeting anyways?  That’s cold, Pepper.”

“Excuse me for thinking Tony should be responsible for his company,” she shot back.

Rhodey stood, folding his arms and squaring his shoulders.

“I think you should leave now, Miss Potts,” he said formally, his voice cool.

“Excuse me?” Pepper spluttered, outraged.  “I most certainly will not-”

“Tony has a longstanding company policy regarding scheduled public appearances during this time of the month,” Rhodey interrupted again, his voice now glacial.  “If you can’t deign to respect that policy, I think it’s best if you don’t continue as his PA.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Pepper said, voice blank with shock.  “I know for a fact that Tony hates Christmas, so what on earth he finds so objectionable-”

“Howard and Maria Stark were killed in a car crash ten years ago in the late evening hours of December 17, 1991.”

Pepper froze, stunned into silence by Rhodey’s revelation.

Oh.

_Oh._

She felt the silence like a physical weight on her shoulders, smothering her anger and making her wish she could sink through the floor in a puddle of mortified guilt.

Oh God, she silently moaned.  She should have been able to put the pieces together; she was normally so good at that.  She knew the company history; _how_ could she have forgotten something so important?  This was what Obie had been warning her about, Pepper realized with a growing horror.  Oh God, she was an idiot.

She’d fallen for the hype.  Just like everybody else.  She’d been blinded by the charismatic, glittering, larger-than-life persona until she’d forgotten that Tony Stark was anything else.  And so she’d treated him like a spoiled bratty toddler who was out of touch with reality, rather than approaching him as a grown man with his own sorrows and damage.

For fuck’s sake, she _knew_ how painful it was to lose your parents.  Granted, she hadn’t lost both of hers at once in a car accident.  But she’d watched her mother waste away from bone cancer, watched her father climb into a bottle in grief.  She hadn’t heard about his death until two days after it happened, and she’d never gotten to say goodbye.  She understood, somewhat, the pain that Tony must be suffering under; how could she have discounted that?

She had failed.  And she _hated_ failing.

Rhodey sighed, seemingly softening in the face of Pepper’s mortification.

“Look, I know Tony’s not easy to get along with,” he said, reaching for his coffee.  “I know he’s a spoiled brat, and obnoxious, and rude.  But maybe for this, you can cut him some slack?”

“Of course,” Pepper replied, soft and faint.  “I apologize, Major Rhoades.  I was advised to be sensitive to Mr. Stark’s needs this month.  I should have listened.”

Rhodey nodded in acceptance.  “I’m not giving him carte blanche.  He still fucked up, and he should make amends for that.  He have anything else that needs doing before Christmas?”

“No, this was the last thing,” Pepper answered, subdued.  “If you think he needs to get away, I can arrange an extra week in the Bahamas-”

“Pepper,” Rhodey cut her off, rolling his eyes.  “He’s still Tony.  You honestly think a whole extra week with nothing to do is gonna help?”

Pepper bit her lip.  Normally she would agree with Rhodey, but in the wake of such a huge fuck-up on her part, how could she trust anything she’d thought she knew about her boss?

“I’ll be here till the morning of the 24th,” Rhodey continued.  “Can you access Tony’s private servers?”  When Pepper nodded, Rhodey carried on.  “Root around in this year’s archives and forward me any unfinished projects you find.  I’ll keep him occupied until he’s flying off to whatever resort it is this year.”

“Of course,” Pepper nodded.  “Um… if that’s everything, I’ll just… yeah.”

Rhodey sighed, trailing Pepper as she beat a hasty retreat to the front door.

“Don’t beat yourself up about this, Pepper,” he advised her.  “Tony doesn’t let most people know how bad he still takes this anniversary.”

Pepper tried to keep the bitterness from her smile.  “I should get back to the office.  Goodbye, Rhodey.”

She managed to keep her spine straight and her eyes clear during the entire hour and a half drive, until she pulled into her designated parking spot in the garage.  She turned the car off, drew a deep breath… and broke down in tears.

She had made a terrible mistake.  She had failed horribly.  She would never make that mistake again, she vowed.  Tony needed someone in his corner.  Obie was, but he was helming the company.  Rhodey was, but he couldn’t always be there.  Happy was, but he tended to enable his boss’ bad habits.  That left her.

Could she do that?  Could she be that kind of Gal Friday, balancing the needs of the company against the needs of the CEO against the needs of the man beneath, whom Pepper suspected she’d never actually met?

Could she do anything different?

She hadn’t been fair to Tony, these past months.  She’d misjudged him, taken him at face value, and acted accordingly.  He deserved better from her; she owed him better.

Drawing a deep breath, Pepper dried her eyes and blew her nose.  She touched up her makeup, then grabbed her bag and headed for the front doors.

She had a job to do.

* * *

May 18, 2008

King King – Los Angeles, California

At 2:00 a.m., Pepper Potts’ phone rang.

_Unknown Number_

She was too busy pouring her friend Rachel into a taxi to realize her tiny clutch was vibrating.

At 2:14, the phone rang again.

_James Rhoades_

Pepper, half asleep in the taxi, didn’t hear her phone ringing.

2:15

_1 New Voicemail_

Pepper collapsed face-first into her bed without even trying to undress.  She blinked slowly at the standard-issue bouquet of gerbera daisies [one of three options for a birthday gift from the HR department], and fell asleep.

_2:45  James Rhoades_

_2:46  2 New Voicemails_

_3:30  Obadiah Stane_

_3:30  3 New Voicemails_

May 19, 2008 – Day One

Pepper jerked awake with a start when her alarm started screaming its robotic head off at 7:00, before slamming her eyes shut and moaning.  Too bright…  Oh God, her head was pounding.  Why had she had so much to drink last night?  She wasn’t twenty anymore, you’d think she’d have learned…  Fuck, how did Tony handle being this hungover?

Thank God she didn’t have to work today.  Despite it being a Monday morning, she never had to go into the office when Tony was overseas without her [which happened with fair frequency, by both of their preference].  She could spend the day in pajamas, eat fattening breakfast food and _not_ work out, and watch _America’s Next Top Model_.

_buzz buzz buzz_ _…_

Assuming, of course, that Tony left her alone.

It wasn’t that she had anticipated that she would actually have a full three days off, since Tony was overseas for a weapons demonstration.  Pepper typically didn’t accompany him on these short business trips; she preferred to use the down time to get caught up on backlog at the home office – scheduling nonessential internal meetings [or doctors’ appointments], looking over departmental progress reports and moving paperwork through Tony’s office.  Frankly, these trips of Tony’s were some of Pepper’s most productive times of the month, so she wasn’t above encouraging him to attend as many as possible.  [Side note, Pepper was endlessly grateful that Tony had created JARVIS; he was an invaluable partner in keeping track of the many cogs of the SI machine.]

Naturally, Tony would keep in sporadic, largely inconveniently timed contact, texting her when he was distracted or bored.

[If she saved the bizarre photos he sent – a poodle, a pair of red and gold sneakers, a beautifully arranged plate of high cuisine – well, no one needed to know.]

“Tony, whyyy,” Pepper groaned as she blindly groped for her phone.

She was hungover and had only had four hours of sleep, did she really have to acknowledge whatever random thought had popped up in Tony’s head because he’d forgotten to calculate the time differences again?  Kabul to L.A. wasn’t even a difficult one; twelve and a half hours!  Just reverse the a.m. and p.m.!  How hard is that?!

Murmuring a sound that was half triumph and half resignation, Pepper unlocked her phone.

Three minutes later, she vaulted out of bed and sprinted into the bathroom.

_Pepper, it’s Rhodey.  It’s_ _…_ _God.  There’s been an incident.  The convoy was hit, Tony_ _…_ _We can’t find Tony.  His body wasn’t recovered from the wreckage, there’s_ _…_ _We have search parties out.  I need you to call me, soon as you get this, okay?_

_Pepper, pick up.  The search party hasn’t found him.  We’re thinking he was taken, probably Taliban_ _…_ _We’re waiting for first contact, ransom demands, something like that.  I’ll keep you updated, but you’ve got to call if he contacts you, alright?  We didn’t find his phone either, he might still have it on him, so if he calls_ _…_ _just_ _…_ _Call me, Pep._

_Pepper, it’s Obie.  I just spoke to Rhodey and he told me he’d called you.  We need to get on top of this before there’s a general panic.  I’m getting in touch with the Board, and we’ll implement emergency protocols.  I’ll need your help to draft press statements and to get me up to speed on R &D and Tony’s latest projects.  Give me a call when you’re on your way in and I’ll order us breakfast.  Deep breaths, Pepper.  We’ll keep it together until Tony gets home._

Pepper stood blankly in front of her closet, hair dripping down her back, staring unseeing at her neatly hanging arsenal of pantsuits and sheath dresses.

Missing.

Tony, missing.

Tony’s convoy had been attacked.

There had been fatalities.

Tony was unaccounted for.

Tony had probably been kidnapped.

God, was he alright?  Had he been injured in the attack?  God, the thought of Tony, bleeding and afraid and in pain…

Was this real?  How could this possibly be happening, and to Tony of all people?  He had been surrounded by military personnel and private security contractors; how had he been left alone long enough to be kidnapped?

_Deep breaths_ , she counseled herself.  She had no time for hypotheticals right now, or even the cold wave of dread and fear for Tony’s well-being.  There were people depending on her, and concrete needs she had to take care of.

Inhaling shakily, Pepper reached for clothing from the “Need to be Able to Move” section of her wardrobe [yes, she did separate her clothing by function].  A simple black pantsuit, with a blue cotton blouse; clothing she knew from repeated experience could withstand an especially long day.  She pulled her hair back into a bun [the best hairstyle for when she knew she had a lot on her plate].  She reached for one of her rare pairs of flats, but paused, struck by the left-of-field thought that Tony _hated_ her wearing flats.

_“Legs like that, Potts, deserve only the very best,” he said with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye, presenting the box with a flourish._

Setting her jaw, Pepper reached for the Jimmy Choos gladiator heels.  They weren’t practical shoes, not by a long shot, but…  Tony had bought these shoes for her, by himself, with no prompting, and for no particular reason.  And though he rarely noticed what she wore unless it personally offended his sense of style, he _always_ noticed when she wore these heels.

“Paying attention, Tony?” she asked, glancing into the aether.  “I’m bringing you home, do you hear me?”

May 23, 2008 – Day Five

Pepper gripped the wheel, struggling to stay upright as she drove through the streets of Malibu.  Shit, she knew she shouldn’t have had that last cup of coffee; instead of keeping her caffeinated it had triggered a crash, and she was crashing much faster than she’d thought she would.

Granted, after five solid days of working fourteen to seventeen hours, fueled almost entirely on coffee and power bars, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that she was on her last leg.

They’d managed the initial crisis well, Pepper thought.  The Board was understandably shaken by the news of Tony’s disappearance, but they had unanimously voted Obie in as acting President and CEO.  Together, Obie and Pepper had drafted the necessary press notices.  Obie had held a general meeting with the departmental VPs to let them know the news, and followed that up with individual department meetings to keep projects on track and quotas met.  Naturally, the R&D floors were hardest-hit by Tony’s disappearance, that being where he spent most of his time.  Innovations and completed projects were almost guaranteed to significantly slow down without his presence, which in turn would affect sales and stock.  But, as Obie reminded them, that was a long-term problem they would only face if Tony wasn’t found.  At Day Five it was far too early to start worrying about that.

Next on Obie’s – and thus Pepper’s – agenda would be meetings or teleconferences with all SI overseas and subsidiary companies, to reassure those executives.  The PR department was dealing with the secondary influx of media attention.  For now, they were holding steady.

_“Go home,” Obie had urged.  “You’ve done incredible work this week.  You deserve a full night’s sleep.”_

She hadn’t had the energy to argue.  But instead of going to her own apartment in Santa Monica, Pepper found herself in Tony’s driveway.  Which was fine, she decided.  She had a suite on the second floor, used often enough that she had several changes of clothing as well as duplicates of all her toiletries in stock.  She could take care of some smaller chores – upkeep of the house, dealing with paperwork Tony had left in the lab, transferring files from his private servers onto SI’s.

Sighing wearily, Pepper slipped out of her Choos [so what if she’d worn them all week?  It may have been silly, but it kind of helped to have them, like a tie to Tony], leaving them at the front door.  Padding downstairs barefoot, she punched in her code, smiling weakly as JARVIS opened the door and turned on the lights for her.

“Good evening, Ms. Potts,” he greeted her.

“Hello, JARVIS,” Pepper replied.  “I assume you’ve been monitoring the news.”

“Of course,” the AI responded.

“And the DOD?” she asked knowingly.

There was a brief pause, and Pepper thought that if he were human, JARVIS would be sheepish.

“I may have been keeping track of Lieutenant Colonel Rhoades’ efforts,” he replied.  “It seems his initial assumption of Taliban involvement has been disproven.”

“Has anyone claimed responsibility?” Pepper asked.

“It appears not, which I understand is most unusual in cases such as this,” JARVIS replied.  “But there are a number of insurgent groups and militarized tribes in the area who may be responsible.  Shall I formulate a list?”

Pepper bit her lip, but shook her head.  “I’m sure that’s all information Rhodey already has.  There might be something in email, though.  Someone has to be communicating if they have him, trying to make plans for ransom or… or something.”

“Of course,” JARVIS acquiesced.

“For now, let’s focus on shutting down non-essential house protocols,” Pepper said.  “Cancel grocery delivery, laundry services, and housekeeping for now, until Tony – comes home,” she forced around the lump in her throat.  “Does Tony have any notes or schematics on current SI projects on the private servers?”

“For most of them, Ms. Potts,” JARVIS confirmed.

“Can you copy the most immediate to my work server, please?” she requested.  “I’ll forward them as needed.”

“Done,” the AI agreed.

“Good,” Pepper sighed.  “Then I guess we can just… hold the fort.  For now.”

The hesitant rolling of wheels alerted Pepper to the bots, who huddled together in the corner.

“Oh, guys,” she sighed, collapsing onto the couch.  “C’mere.”

They were on her in an instant, crowding around her like anxious, lost puppies.  Dum-E twittered endlessly, clumsily grabbing at Pepper’s arm with his claw, while U accidentally headbutted her with his camera and Butterfingers rolled back and forth on her chassis.

“It’s okay, we’re okay,” she told them as she stroked hydraulic limbs and chassis.  “He’ll come home.  Rhodey will… will…”

She bent her head, resting it against Dum-E’s arm as she finally gave into her tears.  The bots bleeped in alarm and concern, jostling around her.

“Come home, Tony,” she whispered.

July 18, 2008 – Day 60

“No.  No!  Absolutely not, Obie.  _No_.”

Obie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose while tapping the rim of his half-empty crystal tumbler with his college ring.

“Pepper-”

“ _No_ ,” she snapped, not faltering as she paced his – Tony’s – office.

On any other day, Pepper would be mortified that she was speaking so disrespectfully to her boss.  Any other topic, she would apologize, take a breath, defend her stance but ultimately yield to the boss’ decision.

But not on this.  Never this.

“Pepper,” Obie tried again, schooling his voice to sympathetic calm, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but we have to start accepting-”

“No,” she interjected thickly, shaking her head against the tears she refused to let fall.

“-that Tony’s not coming home.”

Pepper exhaled sharply, all the wind sucked from her sails.  Obie, seeing the fight leave her, gently guided her to one of the two chairs before his desk, wrapping her numb fingers around her abandoned tumbler of scotch.

She forced herself to breathe through the shaking, blinking back tears.  She would not give in to her fears; she would not allow this to become truth.

Two months.  Tony had been missing for two months, and not a trace of him had been found. 

The media had long since moved on to other stories – the dissolution of Nepal’s monarchy, the Egyptian-brokered cease-fire between Israel and Hamas, the rescue of fifteen hostages from FARC forces in Colombia [Pepper had maybe thrown a vase into the nearest wall when she saw that one].  The Board had gotten reacquainted with Stane’s leadership, and SI was running more or less smoothly.  The world at large, it seemed, had already forgotten about Tony Stark.

Rhodey had called this morning in his official capacity as DOD liaison to SI.  The DOD was ready to pull the plug on the search, to declare Tony _missing, presumed dead_ , and were asking for SI’s agreement.  Obie had called Pepper in to discuss the idea, and what that would mean for SI… and here they were.

“We can’t just give up on him,” Pepper said stubbornly, fighting the inevitable.  “We have to bring him home.”

“I know this is hard,” Obie said, laying a hand on her shoulder.  “I hate this just as much as you do.  Tony was like a son to me.  But the DOD’s done everything they can think of, exhausted all of their resources, and they’ve found nothing.  Tony’s resourceful.  If there’d been any way to send up a flare, give us a hint…”

“He’d have found it,” Pepper finished thickly.

The reality sat in her stomach, an icy lump of lead slowly dragging her down into oblivion.

It was over.

They had lost.

Tony was never coming home.

Obie squeezed her shoulder, a sympathetic look in his eye.  “Look, why don’t you take the rest of the day off, start your weekend early.  You’re exhausted, and you haven’t taken any time to grieve.  Go home and take care of yourself, alright?  I’ll call the DOD and the Board, we’ll make the announcement on Monday.”

Pepper nodded, bobbing unmoored in a sea of surreality.  Gently, Obie took her hand and helped her stand, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“You’ve always been an incredible assistant for Tony, Pepper,” he said.  “You’re practically family at this point.  You have a job at SI as long as I’m here, alright?  We’ll get through this, together.”

She moved in a daze, numbly gathering her things and floating through the halls.  She drifted to her car, moving on autopilot as she steered the car through traffic.  She trudged up the driveway, barely responsive as JARVIS opened doors for her, quietly closing her in the lab as she sank onto the couch.

The sight of the bots powered down in their charging stations hit her like a ton of bricks.  With a shriek, the dam broke, and Pepper threw herself onto the couch, sobbing.

He was gone.  She was never going to walk into the lab and see him dancing to obscure K-Pop with the bots, grease-covered and delirious and high off the success of another brilliant, impossible invention.

He was gone.  She’d never again spend three hours harassing him to crawl out from beneath Howard’s old hot rod, only for him to bounce up the stairs in a pristine tux, the Mechanic hidden away beneath Armani and Paul Sebastian cologne and Ray Bans, once again shocking her with his chameleon masks.

He was gone.  She’d never again revel in his brilliant mind for business, never again be dazzled watching him work in his lab.  She’d never be charmed watching him easily converse in Guatemalan Spanish with Daniella, the cleaning lady who’d worked for the Starks for thirty years; or hear him muttering to himself in Italian, his mother’s first tongue, when he was especially engrossed in work.  She’d never stumble on him in the kitchen of the Malibu house at 3 a.m., dismantling the toaster because insomnia had struck after a three-day bender and he needed something to do with his hands.  No more late-night Star Wars marathons and sudden confessions that when he was little, he’d dreamed of building his own C-3P0 and R2-D2 [DUM-E and JARVIS made so much more sense after that night].

He was gone.  No more tabloids and wild parties and scandals; no more damage control or trash removal or watching Tony self-destruct because he knew the image he’d painstakingly constructed, and exactly how to manipulate it to garner attention.  No more watching him channel Howard’s persona and ape his mannerisms because hey, that was all he was, right?  Just a copy and a shadow of his father’s legacy…

He was gone.  No more sudden, grandiose apology presents or occasional small acts of fumbling, awkward thoughtfulness.  No more calls at 2 a.m. or texts because he’d found something to photograph or a contextless observation.  No more nicknames or jokes about peppers or redheads.

He was gone.

“You bastard,” she gasped wetly, wrenching off the Choos and hurling them across the lab.

Then she scrambled off the couch, running across the basement and frantically trying to force the heel to reconnect to the shoe.  But it remained stubbornly broken, and once again Pepper broke down in sobs.

What did she do now?  Who was Pepper Potts without Tony Stark?

August 17, 2008 – Day 90

Pepper stood on the tarmac, clutching her leather portfolio and willing herself not to cry again.  She’d shed enough tears over the last three months; Tony never needed to know how many.

Tony.  Who was on the Air Force jet powering down a few dozen yards before her.  Tony, who had miraculously survived in the desert of Afghanistan.  Tony, who was coming home.

Everything had happened remarkably quickly, and Pepper wasn’t sure she wasn’t dreaming this all.  Heaven knew, she’d had enough wild fever dreams of Tony finally coming home, and this long nightmare being over…  Rhodey had been sent out to investigate an explosion in the Hindu Kush, and he’d found Tony wandering in the desert.  [Of _course_ his escape had involved explosions; that was so quintessentially Tony that Pepper had laughed until she cried.]  The Air Force had brought Tony to a military hospital in Kabul for a few days of observation and recuperation, and now…

She stood tall on her repaired Choos, hardly daring to breathe as the hatch dropped, revealing Tony and Rhodey.  She gripped her portfolio until her knuckles were white to keep her from running to him and throwing herself into his arms, holding him until she was sure he was real and crying all over his suit.   _No; control yourself, Potts_ , she counseled herself.

Like her shoes, Tony was worn and battered.  Thin enough for it to be obvious beneath the suit, hair long and untrimmed, dehydrated and injured and leaning on Rhodey for support.

But still Tony.  Against all the odds, he was alive, and home.  A miracle she wouldn’t forget any time soon.

* * *

February 17, 2009

Stark Expo – Flushing Meadows, Queens, New York

She was going to kill him.

Admittedly, this was a thought Pepper had had many, _many_ times in the seven years she’d worked as Tony’s PA.  And however many times she’d threatened it, mentally or out loud, she’d never actually killed him.

This time, though.  This time she really, truly meant it.  This was worse than the Barcelona Incident of 2005, worse even than the disastrous press conference six months ago where he’d outed himself as a superhero.

And Pepper was going to kill him.

Dying.  Tony had been _dying_ , slowly poisoned by the arc reactor that was meant to save his life.

And he hadn’t told her.

Worse, she’d had no idea.

Pepper had sworn, after the Great Fuck-Up of 2001, that she’d never let Tony fool her again.  She had spent years getting to know the man inside and out; she could have sworn he couldn’t surprise her anymore.  Aside from the whole Iron Man thing because really, who could have predicted that?

But she hadn’t put the pieces together.  She’d had plenty of evidence to work with – the Stark Expo, when Tony had never before shown any interest in reviving it; making her CEO of his company out of the blue; drinking and partying when he’d largely given that up in the wake of Iron Man.  Tony had been unusually jittery and restless lately, and strangely moody.

Something had clearly been bothering him, but no matter what Pepper had tried, Tony had refused to confide in her, shutting her out until she threw up her hands in despair and gave up.

Damnit, Tony.

So, yes.  She was going to kill him.

Just as soon as he set her back on solid ground.

Shivering [and only partly from the cold], Pepper squeezed her eyes shut against the heights.  God, she hated heights.  Also, she really wasn’t dressed for flying over the streets of New York in February.

Pepper wobbled a bit as Tony set her on her feet atop a rooftop.  Yup, definitely not dressed for this.  She should maybe stop wearing heels; they were not good shoes for a superhero crisis.  She shook her foot, dislodging a shard of glass from her Louboutin T-strap sandals.  Man, this heroing shtick was a pain in the ass.

God, was this really their life now?  Robot suits of armor and desperate fights through Queens [of all godforsaken places] that almost got her killed and SHIELD siccing spies on them [she and Phil were going to have A Talk about that, oh yes they were]?  How in the _hell_ had they gotten here?  [No; she knew exactly how.]

She wasn’t entirely sure she could do this.  Matter of fact, she was pretty sure she couldn’t.

Pepper was a good woman in a crisis.  She could triage a catastrophic mess and turn a disaster into a triumph of organization and ruthless competence, and spin some good press out of it to boot.

This?  This was not that.

This was being constantly terrified but having no outlet for that fear.  This was being helpless [like those three awful months of Tony’s captivity she still had nightmares about] to do anything to help Tony with his crusade.  This was being helpless to support Tony, because he refused to let her in far enough to help.  This was almost dying because she got caught in the crosshairs of a supervillain [she really could not take the energy to process that part right now, so…].

Was she proud of him?  Of course; immensely so.  [Just as he had once predicted, damn him.]

But could she continue to be involved in this insanity?  That…  That, she didn’t know.  She hadn’t signed up for this; for any of it.  But she’d been dragged into the middle of it all anyways, even being endangered by Tony’s enemies…  [Nope.  Still not thinking about that.]

Shaking, she pushed Tony away, covering her face with her hands as Tony’s suit sparked.  She needed to breathe; she needed to get a grip on herself.  She could feel words bubbling up, but she had no idea what those words were, and she couldn’t just…

“Oh my God, I can’t take this anymore.”

Well, shit.

Tony frowned.  “You can’t-”

“I can’t take this,” she repeated.

What the _hell_ , brain-to-mouth filter?

“What are you-?  Look at _me_!”  Tony exclaimed.

“My body literally cannot handle the stress,” Pepper’s mouth continued to babble without permission.  “I never know if you’re gonna kill yourself, or- or… or wreck the whole company, or-”

Fuck.  Fuck fuck _fuck_.  She hadn’t meant to say that.

Granted, it was all true.  She’d experienced plenty of on-the-job anxiety and stress because of Tony’s antics, but in the six months since Iron Man became _A Thing_ that anxiety had skyrocketed.  If she had a dollar for every anxious moment she’d endured, she’d be richer than he was.

But still.  Bad, _bad_ mouth!  She didn’t want him to know any of this!  This was treading dangerously close to _feelings_ , and she had _sworn_ after that Almost Ki- [nope, still not thinking it, not even to herself] that she would squash any emotion other than platonic fondness.  She didn’t want him to know she worried [that she lost entire nights of sleep waiting for him to get back from his latest raid on the Middle East, that every time she saw Iron Man’s name in the papers her heart skipped a beat and not for any of the pleasant reasons].

Tony’s voice cut into her panicked thoughts.

“I just- I think I did okay!” he protested, waving a hand toward the ruins of the burning expo grounds.

“I quit.  I’m resigning.”

Wait.

“That’s it.”

…

What.

Tony looked as stunned as she felt [oh God, had she really just said-?  Worse, did she actually _mean_ it?]

“What did you just say?” he asked blankly, looking disturbingly like a kicked puppy.  “You’re done?”

She stared at him, her brain struggling to catch up with what her mouth had just said.

What.

The.

Fuck.

And the worst thing was, she was pretty sure she actually meant it.  It must have been building for months now.  She hadn’t been lying when she told Tony that he was going to kill himself with Iron Man and that she wouldn’t be party to it.  She couldn’t let him destroy himself with trying to save the world, and if he insisted on doing that, then…

Then she had to leave.  Because she couldn’t watch him die.

Who was Pepper Potts without Tony Stark?  Nothing.

And God, but wasn’t that a horrible admission to make.  But it was true.  He’d wormed his way past all her defenses; hell, she had remade herself to be the person he needed.  To be _his_ person, someone he could trust to be on his side and to have his back.

But here she was, saying she couldn’t do it anymore.  She couldn’t be his person now, because this wasn’t the Tony who had needed that Pepper.  Obie hadn’t been wrong, all those months ago; part of Tony really didn’t come home from Afghanistan.  He had come back a different man, a man who didn’t need the Pepper Potts she’d become.  He needed someone else.

So.  Who was Pepper Potts now?  If she didn’t fit into Tony’s new world of superheroics and SHIELD, what did that leave?  What was left, when the mask of Pepper Potts was ripped away [ _was_ there anything left, if she wasn’t playing that role anymore?]?

Across the chasm of ten feet [and a million miles], across the line drawn in the sand and the burning wreckage of the Expo [and possibly their relationship], Pepp- no, _Virginia_ watched to her dismay as Tony retreated from her, sliding behind a mask of bland neutrality.

“Surprising,” he muttered, sounding surprisingly bitter, before he caught himself.  “Nah, it’s not surprising,” he amended, stepping toward her.  “I get it.  You don’t have to make any excuses-”

“I’m not making any excuses-” she said indignantly, stepping closer to him.

“Well, you actually were just making excuses-”

“No I wasn’t making an excuse,” Virginia cut him off, “because I’m actually very-”

“But you don’t-  Listen-  Hey hey hey,” he cut her off in turn, taking her hands [when had they gotten close enough for that?].  “You deserve better.”

Virginia blinked, taken aback.  “Well-”

“You’ve taken such good care of me,” he continued, his brown eyes almost painfully sincere in his composed face.  “Been in a tough spot-”

Really?  He was really going to call almost dying being in a _tough spot_?

“-and you got me through it, so…  Right?”

“Thank you,” she breathed, squeezing his hands despite herself, knowing he couldn’t feel it through the gauntlets.  “Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah yeah,” he said, pulling away [she was _not_ disappointed].  “So.  Let’s talk clean-up.”

She took a deep breath, trying to process what had just happened.  It was really over.  Seven years and a whole lot of history…  Over and done with in six words.  She hadn’t just quit the Iron Man Support Team, she had quit Stark Industries.  She was done; it was all over.  And now there was nothing to do but clean it up.

Wasn’t she supposed to be happy?  Wasn’t this what she wanted?  To be done, to get out, to protect herself from the inevitable pain of Tony’s decision?

So why was this sitting like lead in the pit of her stomach?  [Shut up heart, not asking you.]

“I’ll handle the transition,” she said numbly, hardly knowing what she was saying anymore [it seemed to be the day for that].  “It’ll be smooth-”

Oh God.  She had resigned.  She’d had so many plans for SI, and now that was all over.  She’d have to find a replacement CEO.  Not to mention a replacement PA for Tony, since Miss Rushman had turned out to be a SHIELD plant.  Train her replacement; find his next Pepper.

Would the next one stick it out long enough to make it into Tony’s corner?  Or would he revert to old habits and switch out PAs like he changed cars?  She didn’t delude herself into thinking she was irreplaceable, but she did feel responsible for finding someone who could be trained up to snuff.

Oh God, the thought of someone else taking care of Tony and the house and the bots twisted in her guts like a white-hot knife.  But she couldn’t say anything about that, could she?  She was the one walking away.

What in the _fuck_ was she doing?

“Okay, what about the press?” Tony asked, doing a mighty fine job of keeping a professional tone of voice.  “Because you only had the job for a week, that’s gonna-”

“Well, with you it’s like dog years!” Virginia exclaimed.

One corner of his mouth quirked up.  “I know.”

“I mean, it’s like the Presidency-” she rambled, before he cut her off.

Wait.

What?

Virginia would be lying if she said she’d constantly wondered what it would be like to kiss Tony.  She would not have lasted at her job for seven years if she’d allowed her thoughts to stray in such a non-professional direction.

But she would also be lying if she’d said she had never thought about it.  She wasn’t blind, after all.  And when he’d walked down the hangar, coming home from Afghanistan…  Or that night at the Firefighter’s Ball…  Or the night after Obie’s death, when they’d sat silently in Tony’s workshop and killed a bottle of scotch while he denied mourning his surrogate father figure…

She hadn’t imagined this.  Him in the suit, her wobbling on stiletto heels, her professional life in a shambles by her own doing, this happening not ten minutes after a PR disaster.

God, his lips were soft.  Surprisingly soft.  Had she stopped to think about kissing him…  Okay, fine.  _When_ she thought about kissing him, she’d always imagined him as domineering; plundering and claiming and just taking what he wanted.  But he didn’t; he didn’t even go for tongue.  Just a closed-mouth press of lips.  But God, his lips…  It wasn’t sex.  It was _intimate_ , in a way she hadn’t been sure he could be.

Was the world spinning out of control, or was that just her?

“Weird?” he asked, looking unusually hesitant.

“No,” she breathed, staring at him.  “It’s not weird.”

“It’s okay, right?” he asked, aiming to sound confident but instead just sounding relieved.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Kay,” Tony nodded.  “Run that by me again.”

He didn’t catch her by surprise twice.  This time, she was immediately on board with what was going on, and eagerly kissed him back.

Ugh, _fuck_ this suit, it was in the way…

Maybe this was who she was, when she wasn’t the Pepper Potts that the old Tony Stark had needed.

Maybe this version of her could be enough.

* * *

…and One Pair of Bare Feet

* * *

March 10, 2010

Stark Mansion – Malibu, California

Pepper sighed happily, tilting her head back against the arm of the couch as her eyes blissfully drifted shut.

“Oh God,” she groaned, back involuntarily arching a bit as Tony’s clever fingers gently dug into a particularly tender spot on the ball of her foot.  “You can stop that never.”

Tony huffed out a laugh, dipping his head and pressing a kiss to the inside of her ankle.  She hummed appreciatively, blinking her eyes open at the mechanic whine of an approaching bot – DUM-E, as it turned out, carefully balancing a tray with two champagne flutes and an open bottle.

“Set it down,” Tony instructed.  “No, not there.  Not there eith- Goddamnit, you rolling scrap heap, get back here!”

Pepper pouted as Tony released her foot, but the sight of Tony Stark chasing after his robot was well worth the aborted foot rub.

He smiled triumphantly as he freed the bubbly from his recalcitrant bot, ambling back to her and presenting her with a glass.

“What are we celebrating?” Pepper asked, lazily stretching her legs [she didn’t at all notice Tony’s dark gaze fixating on her legs; no, not at all].

Clearing his throat, Tony returned to her on the couch, trailing one callused finger up the smooth plane of her calf.

“I need to head to New York tomorrow,” he sighed, tracing her kneecap, leaning down to kiss the knobby bit when her skin rose in goosebumps [God, over a year later and she was never going to get used to this; that it was okay now to look, to touch, to _love_ this man].

“Mmm?  New York?  Why?” Pepper asked, taking a sip of champagne to clear her mind.

“The Pirate wants a word,” Tony shrugged.

Pepper raised an eyebrow.  “And you’re going?  Who are you and what have you done with Tony Stark?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Ha ha,” he said dryly.  “Fury has A Thing he wants me to take a look at.  Some kind of tech his people haven’t seen before.  They need a consultant.”

“Hmm,” she murmured.  “And what do you get out of it?”

“Playtime in SHIELD labs,” Tony shrugged again. 

“And whatever knowledge you can get out of the tech,” Pepper said knowingly.

He grinned unrepentantly.  “He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to share.  And anyway.  Need to pop over to the Tower, install JARVIS’ servers before they start working on interior electrics.”

“I see,” Pepper nodded.  “How long will you be gone?”

“Not long,” Tony said, tilting his head to the side as he considered.  “Week?  Ten days, maybe.”

“Want company?” she asked.

Tony perked up.  “Well, if you’re offering.”

“Someone has to supervise your playtime,” she smirked.

He pouted.  “I am wounded, Miss Potts.  Wounded to the core.”

“I’m sure the arc reactor can take the strain,” she shot back irreverently.

“You are a cruel, cruel woman, Potts,” Tony complained.

“Aww,” she cooed, rolling onto her knees and moving to straddle him.  “I’ll just have to kiss it better, then.”

She proceeded to do just that, before he had time to reply.

Yeah.  After ten years [and some change], after all her sacrifices and anxieties and reinventions of herself…  It had all paid off in this life she’d built.

So this was who Pepper Potts was.

She was incredibly okay with that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Author’s Notes: The MCU’s timeline is utterly ricockulous, so I’m by and large ignoring it and doing my own thing. Ditto character backstories; I’ve never read any of the comics, and the Marvel wiki only tells me so much, so I’ve largely decided to invent my own backstory. Then again, many details about the MCU are ridiculous [like the fact that SI headquarters are, according to the Marvel wiki, in LA and Tony lives over an hour away in Malibu, not accounting for traffic. I do not envy Tony that commute.] and I’m working around them as best I can. Which sometimes includes ignoring tertiary characters’ actual occupations or physical appearance, as I did with Bambi.
> 
> I’m sorry if Pepper came across as an OOC bitch during that confrontation with Rhodey. But I think if you don’t have all the pieces to understanding Tony’s psychology, he’s probably super hard to deal with. And Pepper didn’t always have all of the pieces. Even Pepper Goddamn Potts isn’t perfect.
> 
> It physically pained me not to write out the end of The Kiss Scene. I had all the dialogue prepped and I would have loved to take a crack at it, but… In the end, I found such a perfect stopping point that Rhodey’s jokes became superfluous [as much as it pains me to admit that].


End file.
